


5 PM

by neytah



Category: Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neytah/pseuds/neytah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day, he shows up at the same time, orders the same thing. </p><p>based on <a href="http://iwannakissallama.tumblr.com/post/86268131930/i-really-need-to-draw-a-bubbleline-au-where-pb">this bubbline comic</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	5 PM

He comes at the same time every day. He sits at the same spot by the window, and I take his order. And every day, it's the same: lemon tea, and a slice of strawberry cake. We don't talk otherwise.

And it shouldn't bother me. It _really_ shouldn't bother me as much as it does, but every day, at 5:30, he leaves an empty cup, but the cake untouched, only from the decorative strawberry eaten.

It shouldn't matter but _I_ make that cake. Every morning before opening, I slave over it in the kitchen, and all the other customers have nothing but good things to say about it. Except him, who just leaves it to stale like it's a lump of chopped liver. And then he orders it again the next day!

I know it's stupid that it bothers me this much. I was telling Bea about it the other day on the phone and she couldn't stop laughing at me. And she's right. It's all too stupid.

I've thought about confronting him about it. I've even practiced in the mirror (that is, until Meg started cackling at me from the next room over.) And I've went to take his order with the intention of asking him why, but he always looks up from his book with this look of utter discontent with the world and I loose my nerve. Because what do my stupid feelings about my stupid strawberry cake even matter? He's probably got much more important things to worry about other than my silly feelings. And it's his cake, his money, he can do what he wants.

But it still bugs me. Like, _really_ bugs me.

So I collect myself, formulate a plan for what I'm going to say, and go in the next day, ready to confront him.

5 PM rolls around. And the door bell doesn't ring.

He's been showing up on-the-dot 5PM everyday for the past month or so. He's never late. Something must be wrong. Maybe there's been a death in the family, or there's been a car crash on the freeway delaying his arrival, or surely something terrible—

The bell at the door rings.

I want to preface this with saying I'm not the kind of person who yells at people. I just speak loudly.

So my shoes click against the linoleum as I walk briskly over to where he's sitting.

"Hi, I'd like a-"

"I know, you want a small lemon tea and a slice of strawberry cake, like you always do even though you ever eat the cake which I just don't understand I put so much hard work into those cakes and everyone else loves them so why do you order it if you just let it sit there?!"

Oh my gosh.

I just said all of that.

And now he's sitting there, wide eyed, staring at me. I can feel the blush rising in my cheeks. Then he smiles. It's been a whole month, him sitting here in this chair, and I've never seen him smile.

He has a nice smile.

"You make the cakes?"

"Yeah."

"Every day?" I nod.

"So," I bit my lip, " Why do you order it if you-"

"I don't like sweets."

"Then why do you even order it?"

"Because I..." He pauses, looking out the window. "I just wanna excuse to see you everyday."

Oh my gosh.

I clear my throat.

"So do you want the usual?"

"Yeah."

Oh my gosh. That just happened.

I ask Ursula to take him his order, I'm too embarrassed to go myself, and to be honest, I stay hidden in the kitchen for the next half hour.

And when I emerge from hiding 30 minutes later, like clockwork, he's gone.

But one thing's different.

The plate is empty.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
